Still Waters
by catharticone
Summary: A beautiful beach, a tranquil bay, Rose and the Doctor... What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC, and no infringement is intended._

_Thanks as always to the wonderful SonicJules, who provides endless support and encouragement!_

* * *

Rose actually gasped when she saw the gorgeous, emerald water. The small bay sparkled in the late morning sun. She stood on the low cliff looking out over the sea for some time, almost mesmerized by the depth of the color.

"Like it?" the Doctor asked simply, although he was grinning widely at the utter joy reflected in her face.

"Oh yeah," she replied softly, then she twirled back to wrap her arms about his neck in a brief yet grateful hug. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Now you said you fancied a swim in nice, warm water, so go on," he waved his hand toward the bay below. "Get on with it."

"Are we in a hurry?" she asked.

"Not at all. But the water should be just about perfect now. I think you'll enjoy it the most if you can get in within the next thirty minutes or so." He glanced quickly at the pair of small suns high in the aqua sky.

"'Kay!"

Rose scampered down the natural path beside the cliff. Her beach bag swung from one arm, and her hair shone in the brightness of the suns. The Doctor watched her for a few moments, reminded again why he so enjoyed the company of humans. They were easily impressed, even enthralled, by the simplest things…

He followed her down the path, moving at a more leisurely pace than she had. For once he felt completely relaxed; there was nothing chasing him, no threats to the planet or time or space. Today there was just the beautiful beach, the glorious water, and his laughing companion.

Rose had reached the beach and dropped her bag in the sand. She wore a tank top and shorts over her bikini and quickly stripped these impediments away. He observed her with interest. Her bathing suit was yellow—bright, banana yellow—with something sparkly embossed on the bottom, just below the small of her back. The top tied at her neck and beneath her shoulder blades. The suit wasn't tiny by any means, but it certainly wasn't overly large, either.

As she took a few steps toward the water, he watched her legs, admiring the musculature in her calves and thinking that she'd certainly grown more toned and fit since he'd first met her. Not that he made a habit of staring at her legs, but it was difficult not to notice. After all, he was a man of minute observation, a scientist for whom the devil was more often than not in the details.

When the water swirled about her feet, Rose squealed. She turned back to address him.

"It's tingly!" she exclaimed in sheer delight.

He strode across the warm sand to stand just at the water's edge. "Yep, and it's at its tingliest just now. That comes from energy released by the plants, and this time of day, when the suns are just shy of their zeniths, that step in the photosynthesis process produces the strongest ions."

"So the whole bay's like a spa?" she asked with a giggle.

"Rather, but the natural effervescence is fairly mild. It'll make you more buoyant, and it's great for the skin—opens the pores and clarifies like you won't believe."

"I love it!" With those words of approval, Rose splashed out into the water.

* * *

The Doctor sat beneath a large, gaudily colored beach umbrella. He'd stuck it in Rose's bag, handily encased in its dimensionally transcendent pouch, of course. He'd removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves in the early afternoon warmth. Rose had been swimming for over an hour, and she showed no signs of tiring.

He kept an eye on her, although he wasn't sure why. There were only tiny, harmless fish in these waters. Nothing lurked beneath the rock formations lining the ocean floor or within the large leaves of the aquatic plants. He'd checked that out before leaving the TARDIS. Rose was a strong swimmer, so he really wasn't worried. Still, she did have a tendency to flounder into trouble, so he was reticent to look away for too long. Besides, he enjoyed watching her with her human energy and zeal for life.

She swam beneath a rocky arch, popping up from the water often to wave at him. He waved back each time, smiling at her enjoyment. He felt content, although he was growing rather peckish.

He reached over for the basket, rummaging beneath the clothes and flip flops for the bag of crisps he knew she'd packed. He was just pulling it from the basket when he felt the slight vibration.

The Doctor blinked, then his eyes rapidly scanned the beach. Nothing appeared amiss. Had he imagined the subtle movement? His gaze moved out to the water, and for a moment he thought he'd been affected by the sun, never mind the umbrella. The rocky arch where he'd just seen Rose looked different. He stood, watching and listening, and realized that the water was moving, undulating with the force of some sort of deep tremor.

"Rose!" he cried, running toward the water.

His eyes searched the surface, but he saw no hint of blonde hair or banana yellow bikini. His hearts began to thud in his chest as he comprehended that the arch had been altered; several large chunks had fallen from the highest point.

The water ceased its turgid churning, the sea becoming smooth again. He stood very still, focusing all of his attention upon the area beneath the arch, and then he saw a small hand flutter briefly upon the surface. He tore off his Chucks and ran into the water. The arch was about five meters from shore, and he swam to it in swift, sure strokes that belied the frightened thudding of his hearts.


	2. Chapter 2

As the Doctor neared the broken rock formation, he saw Rose's hand move, and then it was joined by the top of her head. Still, he couldn't tell if she was floating up or surfacing of her own volition. Desperately he hoped that it was the latter.

He reached her in another few strokes, just as the tip of her nose emerged from the water. Her heard her gasp and realized with immeasurable relief that she was alive.

"Rose!" he called, reaching for her hand.

Her fingers curled around his wrist, and she spluttered, "Doc…tor!"

Only her nose and mouth were out of the water, and he could see that she was in danger of slipping back down any moment. Immediately he slid her arm over his shoulders and began to pull her up.

Her face cleared the water by a centimeter or two, and then she cried out. "Ah!"

"Rose, what's wrong?" he asked, moving his hand to support her head, to keep it clear of the water and seaweed.

She was still gasping for breath, and he could see the blue tinge around her lips; she'd been under for at least a minute. He inhaled deeply, instructing his lungs to increase oxygen production, then leaned over to press his mouth against hers. He exhaled gently, filling her lungs with oxygen-rich air.

Her hand gripped at his shoulder, and at first he thought she was struggling, but when he drew back and she exhaled she seemed to understand what he had done. He gave her three more breaths, and finally her respiration became steadier. Her head, however, remained partially submerged. He began to lift it.

She squeaked with pain. "Stuck," she gasped.

"What?"

"Stuck," she repeated, her eyes moving downward. "Somethin'… piece of rock… from the arch…"

Immediately he dove beneath the surface. The water's clarity permitted him to see precisely what the problem was, and it was a troubling one. The rock had broken off in large hunks, and one had fallen against the base of the arch, trapping Rose's leg. She had been in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Doctor wrapped his hands around the hefty fragment, but it resisted his efforts to move it. He studied the predicament for a few seconds, noting that the rock pressed against the upper half of her leg, from just above the knee to just below the hip. He saw no blood, so there was little chance of a compound fracture, but still there was probably a complete or comminuted fracture in the distal portion of the femur.

He reached down to wrap his fingers around her ankle to check the tibialis posterior pulse. He brushed away a leaf clinging to her foot to feel a weak, thready beat. At least it was present. He resurfaced.

Rose was alert, although she was quite pale. "How bad?" she asked.

"Not so very," he replied with an attempt at a reassuring grin. "I'll have you out in no time."

"Think my leg's broken."

"Probably," he responded honestly. "But I can sort that easily."

"Yeah?"

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah. Be back in a bit."

He dove down again and once more attempted to shift the large rock. It refused to budge despite his considerable force of will. He would have to try something else. He swam up to tell her his plan.

Pulling the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, he said, "I can create high-level frequencies that'll break the rock into smaller pieces, but it's going to come apart with a bit of a bang."

"That thing's waterproof?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the small instrument in his hand.

"Of course."

"Figures."

"Rose, listen," he said, trying to keep the urgency out of his tone. "I need to get you out of here soon, because the tide's rising and you're not able to rise with it. I can't think of any other way than this."

"'Kay."

She didn't comprehend fully, didn't see the risk.

He explained hurriedly, "Thing is, there's going to be some force when the rock breaks apart. I'm going to stay in front of you, so you shouldn't be hit by anything, but there's a chance that I might be. If that happens, just get yourself to shore." As an afterthought, he asked, "Your arms aren't injured, are they?"

"Don't think so," she replied rather slowly.

He ran his hands over her shoulders and arms quickly; he felt no abnormalities. Lifting his hands out of the water, he made the necessary adjustments to the sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor," she said, reaching out to grip his arm as some clarity finally came to her, "what'd you mean, you might be hurt?"

"Nothing to worry about," he said quickly. He slid in front of her, pressing his chest against her belly. "Remember, Rose, get to shore, and I'll follow."

He could see that she was about to protest, to question the possibility implied by his words, but the water was getting higher, and there was no time to waste. He cradled her head protectively with his left hand and thrust his right into the water to aim the instrument at the rock.

Her heart hammered against him as she waited. Suddenly he sensed the slight change in mass, and his muscles stiffened instinctively. He felt a low, soft thud at the back of his thigh, and something slammed against his right arm, pushing it away from Rose.

He was pushed forward, impelled beneath the surface. Water rushed into his mouth and nose. The Doctor flailed, feeling Rose slip away from the safety of his grasp.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor reached for Rose, grasping desperately to catch her. But then Rose was bobbing up in front of him, and he realized that she'd been released from the rocky trap. With immeasurable relief, he surfaced and clasped her hand.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded. "You?"

"Yep. Now let me do the work; don't move your legs."

Without further discussion, he wrapped his right arm around her chest and began to swim back to shore. When they reached the shallow water, he shifted around to lift her into his arms, instructing her to keep her injured leg as still as possible. He carried Rose out of the water and lay her gently upon the warm sand.

Immediately his hands moved to examine her leg. He could feel the solidity of the bone; thankfully it had not shattered. As he'd suspected, however, it was broken. He was fairly certain that she'd sustained a nondisplaced, simple transverse fracture.

When he looked back up at her face, he found that she was ashen.

"I know it hurts," he told her gently, "but it won't for long. Just hang on, Rose."

He lifted her into his arms again, his hearts aching at the moan she tried to suppress. He decided not to take the time to immobilize the leg; the difference in pain would not be worth the extra minutes.

Quickly he strode over the sand then up the path to the cliff. The ship sat in a small clump of trees. He hurried toward it and rapidly got Rose inside.

"Almost there," he told her, glancing down at her face. Her half-open eyes were glassy, and her skin was very cool. She was slipping into shock.

He reached the infirmary in a few long strides and set her carefully upon the examination couch. Immediately he administered a local anesthetic and medication to stabilize her system and prevent complications from the shock.

She shuddered a breath and opened her eyes fully. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Do you feel any pain?" he asked, sparing a moment to brush the wet hair away from her brow.

"Uh uh."

"Good."

He stepped away to retrieve one of the scanners then swiftly secured an image of the broken bone. He'd been correct in his diagnosis. Fortunately the damage would not be terribly difficult to repair. It could have been much worse.

"Doctor," Rose said huskily.

He was busy programming the proper setting on the fracture repair device. "Hmm?"

"'M a little… cold."

He looked back at her. Sea water continued to cling to her skin and saturated her hair, and she still wore only her banana yellow bikini. He found a thick towel and blotted some of the water from her hair, then he tucked a warm, absorbent blanket around her shoulders and hips.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah… thanks." Her eyelids lowered again. "Sleepy," she added with a slight slur.

"Then sleep, Rose. When you wake everything will be fine."

"Mmn," she replied.

She slipped into slumber and lay quietly while he carefully adjusted her leg, aligning the bones perfectly before using the device to knit them back together. He scanned the femur again, and, satisfied with his work, placed a plastic brace on her leg. The limb would need to remain motionless for several hours in order for the healing to complete fully.

He suspected she'd be more comfortable on one of the infirmary beds. However, at the moment, she was breathing deeply, clearly still asleep. So he had a little time before he needed to move her. Turning away from her, he pushed up his right sleeve and ran his fingers gingerly over his elbow. Now that Rose was out of danger, he permitted himself to wince, but he did not cry out.

He scanned his arm to confirm the hairline fracture of the distal humerus then wriggled his arm into the correct position before using the repair device. He wouldn't require a brace; his healing abilities were sufficient to accept the mend and almost immediately integrate it into his system.

Still, he gave himself a few minutes to sink down onto one of the beds and catch his breath. It was supposed to be a pleasant day at the beach… His gaze found Rose, and he raked a hand through his damp hair. She was out of danger; she'd be fine. But still his hearts beat a little too fast, and he could not completely shake the residual fear curling up in his belly.


	4. Chapter 4

He was a rational being, one bred of logic and intellect. He could not succumb to unreasonable anxiety. That flutter of apprehension was merely a delayed reaction to the perilous situation. If he hadn't been able to free Rose when he did, she might have drowned. But he _had_ liberated her, and he had gotten her to shore and back to the safety of the TARDIS. And now she was healed and sleeping comfortably before him. Thus, there was no reason whatsoever for him to worry.

The Doctor pushed himself up from the bed and went to stand beside Rose. Her color had improved a little, but she still remained rather pale. He rested his hand against her cheek; her temperature was normal. He didn't know why he'd expected anything else.

He pressed his fingers gently over her wrist to count the steady pulse beats. There were no lingering signs of shock, no indications that she was anything other than fine.

Still, it couldn't hurt to run a quick full-body scan. She'd undoubtedly been pummeled about by the rocks as they fell, and it was possible that she'd sustained some internal injuries. He pulled back the blanket to view her torso, exposed almost fully to him thanks to her scanty bikini. She had a few scrapes on her stomach, and there was a bruise forming over her hip. He watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, remembering that she'd been underwater and deprived of oxygen for a time. He should check her lungs, just in case; she might have aspirated some water, which could eventually lead to infection and pneumonia.

Her hair, tangled and coarse from the seawater, had fallen over her eyes again. He took a moment to smooth it away. Beneath it he found an abrasion on her brow. Why hadn't he thought to check for head injury?

His fingers ran carefully over her scalp. Aside from a few bits of seaweed, he found nothing abnormal. He was just lowering her head back to the pillow when she opened her eyes.

"Hey," she said sleepily, smiling immediately at the sight of him.

He smiled back. "How're you feeling?"

She considered the question for a moment, taking a quick inventory of her body. "My leg doesn't hurt anymore."

"No; it's nearly healed."

"Really?"

"Yep. Simple osteo repair; nothing to it," he told her, only glossing over the truth slightly.

"Thanks." She pushed herself up onto her elbows to look down at the brace. "What's this then?"

"Just a bit of extra support until it heals fully."

"How long's it gonna take?"

"Only a few more hours."

She sat up fully, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "Do I have t'stay in here the whole time?"

"What, you don't like my fully equipped, extremely high-tech, state-of-the-art infirmary?"

"Looks a little too much like a hospital," she replied.

"And you were expecting what? A movie theater? A shop?"

She grinned broadly. "A shop! Now that'd be a nice addition to the TARDIS!"

He chuckled. "Are you sure there isn't one?"

"Oh, I know there's not, 'cause you'd be in it all the time oohin' and awein' over all the odds 'n' ends."

He arched an eyebrow at her, then his expression grew more serious. "Really, Rose, do you feel all right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, fine. Like I said, my leg doesn't hurt at all—just itches a little."

"Does anything else hurt?"

"No."

"You sure? You've got a couple of bruises and scrapes."

She glanced down inside the blanket. "Nothin' serious."

He held up his index finger. "Follow this with your eyes."

She complied, demonstrating excellent ocular motor activity. He took a pen light from the countertop and shone it into each eye anyway, just in case. Her pupils responded with beautiful normalcy.

"All right?" she asked him.

"Yep."

"Told ya."

"I should check your lungs," he said, keeping his voice casual.

She frowned a little. "How come?"

"You might have inhaled some water. Lung tissue's rather fussy and tends to react badly to that sort of thing."

"I don't think I did," she responded.

"Probably not, but I'd like to check anyway, just in case."

Now her pretty brow was quite furrowed. "You're worryin' too much. I'm really okay. Only thing botherin' me now is all this salty gunk that's dried in my hair. An' unless you're plannin' on comin' into the shower with me an' shampooin' my hair, I don't think there's anything else you need to do for me."

He tried not to flush at the image she'd suggested. Instead he turned away quickly and grabbed a stethoscope. She rolled her eyes.

"Just one little listen," he said.

"Haven't you got anything more high-tech than that?"

"Of course, but that'd require time to set up, time to use, and this is quick and effective."

"An' after you're done I get to have a shower?"

She was a good negotiator. Or maybe he was just too eager to please her, to atone for the accident at the beautiful beach that he'd assumed was perfectly safe…

"Yep," he finally replied.

She lowered the blanket so that he could press the instrument over her chest and back. Her lungs sounded perfectly normal, and her heartbeat was strong although a little fast. She was scratching idly at the salty residue on her leg. Now that he thought about it, the remains of the mineral felt rather itchy on his own skin.

"Well?" she asked as soon as he'd finished. "Fine, yeah?"

"And dandy."

"So is it okay if I stand in this thing?" she inquired, touching the top of the brace.

"You'll be more comfortable sitting, but moving about won't impair the healing process."

He looped his arm around her back and helped her from the couch. He took her to one of the extra bathrooms that had a large shower with a tiled seat and a removable shower head. It was fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner, soap, soft flannels, and even a couple of plush robes. Rose seemed pleased and shooed him out of the room.

"Just call if you need anything," he said, stepping out the door.

"Could you get my bag from the beach an' leave it just out there?" she asked.

"Yep."

He hurried down the corridor and back to the console room. The suns still shone in the sky, warming his skin as he stepped outside. The water was calm, and he felt no vibrations beneath his feet. He'd run a scan of the area as soon as he was back at the console; he was curious to find out what had caused the quake-like event.

Rose's bag lay just where he'd left it. He took down the umbrella and returned it to its case then added her shoes to the bag. He stood for a moment looking out at the bright, turquoise water and the jagged, broken arch. This scrape had been entirely too close.

The Doctor sighed and walked slowly back to his ship.

* * *

Rose had rinsed the shampoo from her hair and was just smoothing in the conditioner when she felt the vague light-headedness. Her arms were strangely heavy, and she lowered them to rest her hands against the tile seat. She'd had quite a day, she supposed.

She ran her fingers over the brace encasing her leg. She could hardly believe now that it had been broken. It was barely even sore, just a bit stiff and tired, really. She sat for a few moments then went back to work on her hair.

When she'd finished her shower, she stood and pulled on one of the robes. It was made of lovely, very soft terry cloth, and it absorbed the drops quickly. Still, she felt quite chilly now that she was away from the steaming water. She hugged the robe closed.

She found a nice array of hair products at the vanity. She spent some time combing out her hair then drying it. As she tucked the blow dryer back into a drawer, she noticed that her hand shook a bit. Truth be told, she was exhausted. Her experienced had been a harrowing one. She supposed, too, that a major injury like a broken leg was draining on the entire body. Oh, she knew the damage was fixed, but surely it would be taxing.

With a tired sigh, Rose stood and walked slowly to the door. Her bag sat just outside, and she reached in to retrieve her shorts and top. She realized, however, that she had no underwear; she'd worn her bikini under the clothes. Well, that was probably for the best, because she still felt chilled and really needed to put on something warmer. She wondered if she could remove the brace for a few moments to get some clothes onto her legs.

She trudged down the corridor to her room. She wasn't sure how long she'd slept in the infirmary, but she suspected it had only been a short while. She was shivering now; she'd become even more chilled moving along the corridor. The robe was damp, she realized. She needed clothing, but she still wasn't sure about the brace.

Rose settled for a warm jumper and a loose pair of flannel boxers that she was able to pull over the brace. She tugged on thick, wool socks, too. The entire process, however, left her utterly drained.

Drawn to her bed, Rose sank down, scooting back to get her legs up onto the mattress. She sought the sanctuary of her comforter, snuggling under it, and within a few moments she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor had deposited Rose's bag in the hallway, as she'd asked. After that he'd returned to the console room to run a few scans of the beach area. There were no signs of seismic activity, and he could find no human or mechanical interference, either. He'd thought the planet devoid of humanoid life, and the scan confirmed this. He wondered for a moment if something from the ship had caused the significant tremor. He ran a few diagnostics but found nothing out of the ordinary. There was a low-level energy signature emanating from the ocean floor, but he knew that the plants processed sunlight deep within the root system, so he supposed that was the source of the reading.

He thought that sufficient time has passed for Rose to have finished her shower. When he checked one of the clocks on the console, he found that he'd spent over an hour on the scans. He wondered where Rose was. Surely she wasn't still working on her hair?

He walked down the hallway to the large bathroom and found it deserted. He noticed that her basket was gone. She'd probably returned to her room for her make-up. He hurried along the corridor.

Her door was only partially closed. He spoke her name softly but got no reply. The Doctor poked his head inside.

Rose was in bed, fast asleep. Well, that really wasn't surprising, considering what she'd been through. He crept closer, listening to her gentle, steady breathing. He lifted the comforter to check that the brace remained in place. Satisfied, he took a step back. Sleep really was the best thing for her; her body knew what it needed.

He left her room and walked softly to his own chamber. His clothing was stiff from the dried salt water, and his hair felt distinctly sandy. He was due a shower, too.

* * *

He had been back in the console room for at least an hour when she called him. Her voice seemed faint as it traveled through the corridor and up to where he stood. The Doctor hurried down the ramp and to her room.

"Rose, what's the matter?" he asked, not bothering to knock.

She was sitting up in bed, her hair rumpled and eyes slightly puffy from sleep. "Can you take this off now?" she asked, tapping lightly at the brace.

He grinned in relief. "Probably. I just need to run a quick scan to be sure everything's fully healed."

She frowned. "Am I gonna have to go back to the infirmary?"

"Nope. I'll just fetch a portable scanner. You sit tight."

She sighed. "With this thing on, 's hard to do much of anything else!"

He hastened down the hall to get the necessary device. He scanned her femur carefully and found it fully healed. He offered her a smile and removed the brace.

She moved her leg about, touching it gingerly. "I'd never know it'd been broken!"

"What can I say? I'm good," he replied none too humbly.

She leaned forward to hug him. "Yeah, you are. Thanks."

"So," he said, finally releasing her, "feeling hungry?"

She nodded. "Yeah, actually. You?"

"Famished!"

He stood and offered her his hand. She got up, nearly stumbling as she placed both feet on the floor. He steadied her, his expression changing quickly to one of concern.

"Is the leg stiff or numb?" he asked. He bent and ran his hand over the limb.

"No, 's fine. 'S just… I dunno. Think it was the expectation that it'd be weak or somethin'." She took a tentative step, then another. "Feels good."

He watched her movements carefully. "You sure? Maybe I should do a more thorough scan—"

She turned to him. "No, Doctor, I'm fine, really." Her stomach chose that moment to give a rumble of protest. "Well, except for bein' hungry."

"That I can fix," he said, extending his hand again.

"What d'you have in mind?"

"Whatever sounds good to you."

She thought for a moment. "Nothin' seafood based. How 'bout fondue?"

"Fondue?"

"Yeah, y'know, big pot of melted cheese with stuff to dip into it—"

"I know what it is, Rose! But what made you think of it?"

"Dunno, really. Just sounds warm an' satisfyin'."

"Ah, in the mood for comfort food. I think I could do with some, too. And I know just the place to get it!"

Rose grinned up at him. "I'm sure you do!"

* * *

When she opened the door, a blast of cold air slammed Rose in the face. She shivered. The Doctor had told her to put on warm clothes, and she'd added a second jumper, a pair of jeans, and a jacket, but still the chill seemed to bite through her.

She peered outside to find snow-covered mountains rising all around. She realized that they'd landed in the foothills; the town lay a short distance down a narrow road. She could see the stone buildings below.

"Couldn't you of got us any closer?" she asked.

He poked his head out. "Probably, but a brisk walk'll do you good. Get the circulation back into that leg. And believe me, there's nothing as delicious, as utterly scrumptious, as hot, bubbly, cheesy fondue when you've just come in from the cold."

He took her arm and led her outside, inhaling the cold air with relish. He was grinning, obviously pleased to be here. Rose was less than thrilled at the prospect of a long walk; she was still awfully tired. But his enthusiasm was somewhat contagious, and after a few minutes she felt a bit more energized.

"So this looks like Earth. Are we in Switzerland?"

"Nope."

"But isn't that where they make the best fondue?"

"Ah, a common misconception, just like the one about chips coming from France originally, when actually they were discovered in Belgium. Most people think fondue originated in Switzerland—Swiss fondue and all—but really these folks were the first to think of the idea."

"An' exactly where are we?"

"Italy. Those," he gestured toward the mountains to their left, "are the Alps, but we're on the Italian side, in the Valle d'Aosta. And that," he pointed toward the town they were approaching, "is the Aosta part of the Valle. Best fondue in the universe, right here! They use this special fontina, makes the fondue just a bit tangy."

"Mmm, you're makin' me even hungrier!"

He continued to extol the virtues of the local cuisine as they made their way into the town. He paused just long enough to point out the remains of a wall built by the Romans and offer a brief lecture on the culinary preferences of Augustus Caeser.

Daylight was waning as they walked into town. The Doctor spent several minutes trying to recall where his favorite restaurant was. By the time he'd remembered, soft flakes of light snow were falling.

"D'you think there's gonna be a storm?" Rose asked.

"Oh, these are just flurries. It's not cold enough to snow," he replied with confidence.

Rose doubted his meteorological assessment but refrained from saying anything. Truth be told, the walk had thoroughly worn her out, and she was almost too tired to talk. She slipped her gloved hand into his and let him lead her along.

Finally they reached the restaurant. It was in the basement of an ancient stone building; the top floors housed a small inn. The Doctor opened the door and ushered her down the narrow stairs.

A warm fire glowed at the back of the room. A waiter immediately escorted them to one of the half dozen tables, thankfully the one nearest the fireplace. Rose shuddered as she sat down and the waiter helped her off with her coat. He took her wrap and the Doctor's to hang near the door.

Gradually she grew warmer. The glass of wine helped, and the steaming, burbling fondue was most welcome, too. True to the Time Lord's word, it was delicious. Pieces of crusty, slightly dry bread accompanied the pot, and they absorbed the thick, cheesy mixture perfectly.

By the time they'd finished their meal, Rose was no longer cold, but she was sleepy. She had to drag herself out of her chair, yawning widely more than once. She bundled into her coat, becoming chilled as they left the warmth of the fire.

When the Doctor opened the door and she saw the heavy snow falling, Rose nearly cried. She was already so cold, and so tired, and the thought of the long, freezing walk back to the TARDIS was almost too much.

"'S not just flurries," she said.

His eyes rose toward the sky. "No, it's not."

Rose was biting her lip, fighting against the tears welling in her eyes. She was being ridiculous. Tired or not, a walk in the snow was nothing daunting—not compared to the monsters and menaces she and the Doctor routinely faced.

"Let's see if they have any rooms available," he was saying.

"What?"

"Room at the inn," he clarified cheerfully. "C'mon, Rose. It'll be fun. And in the morning we can sample all the local pastries. Ooh, Italian pastries with a Swiss influence! They are very, very good."

He took her hand again and led her up the stairs to the tiny reception desk. They discovered that there was one room available. To her surprise, he said, "We'll take it," then flashed the psychic paper handily.

The room was cozy, with a fireplace and diminutive sitting area. There were two beds and a small bath. Rose thought immediately that it was perfect… perfect for a good, long sleep, which was all she wanted.

However, the brief moments in the cold night air had left her shivering. She quickly amended her mental list of desires to add a blazing fire.

"Rose, you're cold," the Doctor said, seeming to notice her shudders for the first time.

"Sn… snowin'," she reminded him.

"But not in here." He frowned lightly then offered her a tight smile. "I'll start a fire, have you warm as toast in no time."

There was already wood in the grate. He grabbed a few sheets of newspaper from the small bin beside the hearth and crumpled them before setting them upon the wood. He withdrew his sonic screwdriver and switched it on. Rose waited anxiously for the papers to ignite.

Nothing happened. He tapped at the tiny buttons again with the same unsatisfying result.

"What's… wrong?" she managed.

"It's not working. The water must've damaged it."

"Thought… you said… it was… waterproof."

"It is! It's just—" He shook the instrument then held it to his ear. "It's just a bit waterlogged."

"Try… a… match," she suggested.

Within a minute a cheery blaze crackled in the fireplace. Rose crept closer, her legs leaden, and held out her heavy arms. The warmth gradually reached her palms. She sighed and sank down into a chair, her eyes closing of their own volition as overwhelming fatigue crashed over her.


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor watched Rose's lethargic movements as she neared the fire. At first her shivering hadn't particularly concerned him; he knew that humans were easily chilled. But her pallor was atypical, and when she'd dropped down into the chair he feared at first that she'd lost consciousness.

"Rose?" he asked just a bit sharply, watching her eyelids lower.

She did not respond. He knelt before her and spoke her name again. She appeared to be in deep slumber. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. Her skin was quite cool. He noted that her coat was damp, the result of melted snowflakes, and he knew he needed to get her out of the cold garment before it chilled her further.

"Come on, Rose," he said, pulling her forward, "let's get this wet old thing off you."

She barely stirred as he tugged the sleeves over her arms. More concerned than his rational mind could justify, he patted at her cold cheek. "Rose. Rose!"

She sighed and opened her eyes. "Mmm. Wha' d'y'want?"

"Are you all right?"

"Tired."

"I can see that."

"Wanna… sleep."

Her eyes were glassy, and he caught the hint of fruitiness in her soft exhalation. They'd shared a bottle of wine with dinner, but she'd had most of it, hadn't she? He couldn't quite recall; the waiter had kept the glasses topped off quite efficiently.

"How much wine did you have?" he asked.

She shook her head wearily. "Dunno. Glass or two."

"Or maybe three," he added.

He lifted her and managed to get the coat completely off of her. He maneuvered her toward the bed closest to the fireplace and eased her down. Immediately her eyes closed.

He sighed. Humans… So extraordinary in so many ways, yet so fallible. He pulled off Rose's shoes then brought the thick down duvet from the other bed and tucked it around her. She was asleep again.

The Doctor settled into the chair by the fire, suddenly aware that he felt a bit chilled, too. Snow was falling heavily outside. He was glad they hadn't attempted to walk back to the ship. A tipsy, sleepy Rose was ill equipped to manage the slippery, slick road that led up to the TARDIS.

Mesmerized by the falling flakes, he grew drowsy, too, and the Doctor's eyelids lowered. In the quiet tranquility of the thick snowfall, he slept.

* * *

When he woke, the fire had died down to embers, and the room was chilly. The Doctor rubbed at his arms and added another two logs to the fire. It was nearly dawn; he could sense the slight change in the light. He peered outside to find the streets heavily blanketed by snow as the white flakes continued to fall.

Rose was huddled under the duvet; he could see only the tip of her nose. However, as he stoked the fire, one of the logs crackled loudly, and she seemed to rouse. She made a small murmur then curled up a bit more.

"Rose. You awake?" he asked.

"Mmn," she responded.

"It's still snowing," he told her.

Slowly she sat up and blinked blearily at him in the firelight. "'S still night," she slurred.

"Almost dawn, actually," he corrected.

"It's cold."

"Fire died down, but I've added some more logs. It should be warm again soon."

She gave a little groan as she shoved back the quilt.

"Getting up?" he asked. Now that he was awake, he wanted company, someone to talk to.

"Gotta pee," she said, lurching upward and stumbling toward the bathroom.

Alarmed by her jerky movements, he began to move toward her, but she made it to her destination and shut the door. He waited, and finally he heard the toilet flush. The door opened, and Rose stood gripping the knob. Her face was ashen.

"Rose? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Don't… feel good," she began haltingly.

"I think you had a bit too much wine last night," he reminded her, though not unkindly.

She shook her head. "No. Only had… one glass. Bottle was… half full… when we left."

With those informative words, she suddenly dropped to her knees. He shot forward, grabbing her shoulders before she could slide down to the floor.

"Rose, what's the matter?"

Her eyelids fluttered but did not close. "So tired…," she gasped.

He pulled her up gently and helped her back to the bed. She sank down, beginning to shiver again. He touched her cheek to find it alarmingly cold. He reached for her wrist; her pulse was thready and weak. He spared a moment to listen to her breathing, noting shallow respiration. Damn it, why hadn't he noticed the signs earlier?

He should have performed all the scans. Why had he permitted Rose to leave the infirmary before he'd had a chance to evaluate her thoroughly? Clearly she was hemorrhaging internally, slipping into hypovolemic shock; the only question was the source of the injury.

"Cold," she whispered plaintively, attempting to reach for the blanket.

"I know," he acknowledged, stilling the lethargic movement of her hand. "But I need to have a look at you. Something's wrong, Rose, and I have to figure out what it is."

He reached into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver and automatically switched it on. He glanced at it cursorily then gave it a shake. "Damn," he muttered, setting the useless instrument aside. He'd forgotten that it was damaged.

He pulled up Rose's jumper, exposing her belly. His eyes moved over the pale, waxen flesh. He still saw no overt signs of injury. She whimpered as the cool air touched her skin. He ignored the noise and focused his attention on his task. Methodically he pressed his hands over her abdomen, feeling for any distension or rigidity that would indicate internal bleeding.

She tried to turn away from him, from his cool hands, but he admonished mildly, "Stay still. I have to have a look."

But he found nothing. He slid his hands up to her chest, feeling the ribcage, assessing the movement of her lungs, but still he perceived no sign of injury. He rolled her onto her stomach. There was a bruise on the lower left side of her back.

"Rose," he said, taking a moment to rest his hand against her cheek to ensure her attention. "Was there blood in your urine?"

"Blood?" she repeated sluggishly.

"Yes, blood. When you used the bathroom just now."

"No… no blood."

Still he moved his hand carefully over each kidney. She did not cry out or show any indication of pain. He checked her spine and her ribs but all appeared uninjured. So what the hell was it? Where was she bleeding?

"Oh."

It was single sound, escaping his mouth with surprise and disappointment. She'd broken her leg. There had been swelling, increased pressure. Yes, he'd repaired the fracture and scanned the bone, but what if he'd been careless and missed a torn ligament? What if pressure had continued to build, leading to compression syndrome?

It was the only plausible explanation. Without pretense, he rolled her over and pulled off her jeans. Immediately his hands moved to her leg, but he found nothing amiss. There were no signs of swelling, no indications of increased pressure within the enclosed space. The pulse behind her knee mirrored the one in her wrist. He pulled off her socks, despite her squeak of frustration, checked the pulse at her ankle and ran his hands over her foot.

In growing frustration and concern, he checked her other leg, in case he'd failed to note an injury there. But the limb was perfectly intact. He removed her jumper, ignoring her mild protestations, and examined both arms, her shoulders, her neck… but there was nothing.

He turned on the bedside lamp and held the naked bulb before each eye, but her pupils reacted perfectly. She was able to obey his simple commands for various motor movements, too. An intercranial bleed was thus highly unlikely.

Finally, he pulled the quilt back over her. She tugged at it weakly, trying to gather more warmth. He stood tiredly and took another blanket from the other bed. Her toes were sticking out, and he reached down to adjust the cover.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said.

He knew he'd caused her considerable discomfort, but there'd been no way around it. He gave her ankle a comforting caress. His thumb brushed over a bit of roughness, a single anomaly amid all the normalcy he'd found. He lifted the end of the quilt to study her ankle.

Just beneath her calf he found a small rash. The affected area was about the size of a bottle cap. No wonder he'd missed it before. He'd been so intent on finding some major injury that he'd barely noticed this tiny patch of irritated skin. He pushed his glasses up onto his nose and bent to study the rash.

"Foot's cold," Rose informed him softly.

"Sorry," he replied, "but there's something here."

He touched the irritation, and she winced. Upon closer inspection, he found over a dozen tiny punctures in her skin. It wasn't a rash at all. The question was, what was it?

He thought back to those frantic moments in the water, remembering that he'd brushed something away from her foot, away from her ankle… It had been a bit of seaweed.

Seaweed. He repeated the word to himself, rapidly scanning through the extensive database contained within his mind. The small injury was like a sting, so maybe the cause wasn't a plant at all. Perhaps it was some sort of animal.

And then suddenly he understood. He blinked as the information coalesced. If he was correct—and he usually was—there was very little time to put things to right. Rose's weakness would increase exponentially. Her body's ability to produce energy was already compromised, and soon the cellular processes would shut down entirely. He had to get her back to the TARDIS.

He stood, swaying unexpectedly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He was tired, exhausted, even after nearly a full night's sleep. _Sleep._ Time Lords rarely required slumber. His hearts beat faster.

His hand shook as he unbuttoned his cuff and pushed up his sleeve. He turned over his wrist to find ten miniscule punctures peppering his pale skin. He'd brushed the seaweed away with his wrist, with _this_ wrist.

For a moment he stood, frozen with fear. He raked his hands through his hair. He doubted that Rose would last until noon. He could fight the effects somewhat more successfully, but it would only be a temporary fix. Eventually he would succumb, too.


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor had no choice but to take Rose out into the freezing snow. He bundled her up and helped her downstairs, half-carrying her limp, enervated form. He asked the desk clerk to call a taxi, only to be informed politely and apologetically that the roads were closed due to the storm.

He couldn't wait for the blizzard to end. Time was of the essence. So he hauled Rose outside into the cold and searched for a vehicle to borrow. He found a likely candidate in the alleyway and used his coat-clad elbow to break the glass in the side window. After brushing armfuls of snow from the car, he shoved his wilting companion into the passenger seat. With trembling fingers, he tore out the wires beneath the console, connecting the necessary ones to start the vehicle. The car rumbled sluggishly, and he had to resist the temptation to slam his foot against the gas.

Slowly he coaxed the car from the alley, letting the engine warm. Finally he was able to drive out onto the snow-covered street. He fought his way through the drifts, forcing the chugging vehicle to plow through the dense whiteness.

The car stalled more than once, and the Doctor had to fiddle with the wiring for what felt like hours. Objectively, it was probably less than five minutes each time, but Rose's silence stretched the minutes inexorably. At first he'd attempted to keep up his usual chatter, but she did not respond, and there was no time to try to rouse her. After a short while, he didn't possess the energy to talk; simply controlling the car required all of his strength.

Finally he reached the edge of town. The path they'd taken from down from the TARDIS might have been accessible to an automobile on a sunny, warm day, but the snow rendered it impassable by vehicle.

With a groan of frustration, the Time Lord hauled himself out of the car and trudged over to the passenger side. He opened the door and tugged Rose out, attempting to set her on her feet. But she was only semi-conscious, barely registering his presence or his urgent words. She sagged against him.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, sending a small burst of energy to his body. He knew it was only temporary; his cells would not recharge indefinitely, but perhaps it would be enough to get Rose back to the ship.

He lifted her into his arms and began to plod up the hill through the snow. She was a dead weight; she'd lost consciousness now, and his feeble attempts to awaken her were unsuccessful. Snow clung to her hair, and her beautiful skin was ashen. Her lips were tinged with blue.

He slogged on, willing his legs to move, to drive through the thick drifts. Finally he saw a hint of blue through the nearly blinding white. If he'd had the energy to smile, he would have, but now such an expenditure was a luxury that neither he nor Rose could afford.

He shoved open the door with his shoulder and stepped inside. The interior was blissfully warm, and he hoped that the increase in temperature would stave off Rose's hypothermia. He dropped to his knees and set her upon the floor then crawled up the ramp to the console, not yet bothering to spare the energy needed to stand.

He pulled himself up; he needed to see the console in order to set the coordinates. And it was crucial that he set them perfectly, for precisely the right moment, because he had to get her back to the source, and the window was very narrow. His hands trembled, and he noted idly that the beds of his fingernails had a bluish cast. Funny, he hadn't even felt the cold.

His fingers were stiff, and it was difficult to depress the necessary buttons and turn the dials properly. His legs felt like jelly; he had to lean heavily against the console to support himself. Finally he rested the heel of his hand over the dematerialization switch. He took a breath then leaned into his hand. The ship shuddered violently; this would not be his smoothest journey or landing. But that didn't matter. Reaching the destination was all that he cared about, for it was the only way to save Rose.

He was flung backward, abruptly finding himself sprawled upon the floor. He got to his hands and knees and crawled down the ramp. Rose had been jostled sufficiently to roll her listless body closer to the doors. Well, he supposed that was good: It would save him the effort of dragging her those extra few feet.

He stood on quavering legs, grasping Rose's wrists on the way up. He shoved open the door and pulled her out into the bright, warm sunshine. The sand shifted beneath his feet. At the base of the cliff, the water glittered in the sunlight. He lifted his face to the sky, assessing the positions of the suns. Yes, he'd made it at the proper time. He had about ten minutes now to get Rose back into the water.

He shrugged out of his overcoat and suit jacket then dropped to his knees to divest her of her heavy coat and shoes; he wasn't sure he could manage the excess weight. Her lips remained blue, and her skin was frightfully cold. Her pulse beat sluggishly beneath his fingers.

For just a moment a glimmer of an ironic grin twitched against his lips. Hypothermia slowed down the body's processes, by definition reducing the need for cellular energy. It was possible that being in such a cold environment had prolonged Rose's life. But now the air was warm, and her heart would begin beating faster, other organs accompanying it. At least they would try. He doubted she had sufficient energy to do more than take a few shallow breaths and keep her heart functioning at a dangerously low level.

But he needed ten minutes. That was all. Just six hundred seconds—less than the blink of an eye in his lifetimes. Yet for Rose, those ten minutes could be the extent of her remaining existence.

He pulled her up into his arms again. "Hang on, Rose. Just for a little while, just for a few minutes."

Her head lolled against his shoulder.

He dragged himself over the sand, stumbling more than once as he made his way down the cliff. Rose was a dead weight against him, tugging him toward the ground, using the last reserves of his own energy. But still he continued on, counting the seconds, willing her to remain alive for another minute, just one more…

When he got to the water's edge, he lowered her to the damp sand. She'd ceased breathing about thirty seconds ago, but he hadn't dared to stop for fear of missing the tiny window of opportunity. He rested his hand in on the wet earth and allowed the foamy water to swirl against his skin. He concentrated, sensing the slight ionic fluctuation. It was nearly time.

He hoped that the energy discharge would be sufficient to restart Rose's heart. He simply could not waste the seconds required to do it himself. He had to get her into the water, into contact with as many of the fleshy leaves as possible.

Quickly he stripped off his shirt and trousers then worked to remove Rose's clothing. The effort was exhausting, but he kept moving, kept pulling at the clothes until she lay limply on the sand, arms and legs akimbo, clad only in her bra and panties. He gathered the shreds of his remaining strength and dragged her into the water.

He could now feel the ionic charge building; his skin fairly crackled with it. Wrapping one arm around her chest, he ducked under the water. Several large strips of seaweed floated languidly near his feet, anchored far beneath the sand by their long, deep roots. He kicked up a strand and wrapped it around Rose's torso. Now his entire body was tingling, and he could see the tiny hairs on her arms standing up.

He groped for another rubbery tendril. This one he clasped tightly against his own chest, then he pressed himself against Rose's back and waited.

When the shock came, it was harder than he had anticipated. The force threw him backward, submerging his body and hers beneath the surface. He was momentarily disoriented; water forced its way into his open mouth. He expelled it, suddenly alert as his limbs prickled with the remnants of the energy discharge.

He thrust his head up, water streaming from his hair, briefly blinding him. His arm remained around his precious companion, however; he groped up to press his hand over her heart. It was beating erratically. Even as he assessed her condition, he was splashing toward the shore. He needed to get her out of the water, back onto dry land.

He tore the leaves from her body and his. They pulled painfully away, each leaving a small peppering of burn-like wounds in their wake. Yet he barely registered the discomfort. His focus was entirely upon Rose.

He dragged her from the warm sea and sank down upon the fine, white sand. His first task was to remove any water that she had ingested. He lifted her torso against his own and thrust his clasped fists against the base of her diaphragm. She coughed weakly, expelling a small amount of water. He bent his head, keeping his ear close to her mouth to assess her respiration. With alarm, he suddenly realized that she had stopped breathing.

"Rose, come on," he urged, shifting around so that she lay upon her back. He bent over her, breathing into her mouth then pressing the heel of his hand over her heart in firm, rhythmic thrusts.

For a few moments he did not think; he simply worked by rote motions, delivering a breath then resuming chest compressions, checking for a pulse, and repeating the process, again and again and again… But Rose lay cold and still beneath him.


	8. Chapter 8

Finally the Doctor felt the beautiful, gentle beat of life beneath his questing fingertips. Rose took a shallow breath then exhaled on her own. He spread his hand over her chest, relishing the steady thump of her heart beneath his palm.

He noted that her skin felt marginally warmer. The blue tinge had left her mouth and fingernails, though her complexion remained waxen. Assured that her heart was beating normally, he sank back upon his heels and pulled her into his arms so that she rested against his chest.

She coughed feebly and opened her eyes, squinting in the brightness. He held his hand over her brow to shield her from the glare.

"Welcome back," he said with gentle smile.

"Where'd… I go?" she croaked.

"Nowhere, Rose," he replied, forcing the somber tone from his voice.

Her eyes moved slowly from his face out to the sparkling ocean. "Beach?" she queried. "But we were… in the snow. With… fondue."

"Yep. But we needed to make a little side trip."

She frowned in confusion. "Isn't this… weren't we here before?" Her gaze found the broken remains of the stone arch.

He brushed several strands of wet hair from her face. "Same place, just a few days later."

"Why'd we return?" Her voice was a little stronger now.

"We needed to get something back."

Rose's eyes moved away from the water then down. "Hey, why'm I amost naked?" She lifted her hand to run it over his flank. "You're starkers, too!"

He coughed lightly. "Not quite."

She repeated the question. "Why?"

"They needed direct contact with our skin," he replied.

"Who did?"

"More of a what, actually."

He shifted around, releasing her tentatively until he was certain that she could sit up on her own. He gathered his clothes and hers, offering Rose her coat and tucking the rest of her garments under his arm as soon as he'd donned his shirt.

She struggled into the coat, clearly still weak. As she pulled it closed over her chest, she noticed the marks from her sternum down to her belly. Gently she ran her fingers over them. "These're from the contact?"

He nodded. "Sorry, couldn't be helped."

"Doctor, what the hell happened here?"

"I sent you into danger," he replied soberly.

"Not on purpose."

"Still."

He offered her his hand, pulling her slowly to her feet. She appeared relatively steady with his arm around her back. The actions gave him a few moments to gather his thoughts and emotions.

"So?" Rose pressed as they shuffled along the path.

"Remember how you noticed the effervescence in the water?" he asked.

She nodded.

"It's there because the plants continually discharge low levels of energy, pretty much the way a motor produces the bubbles in a spa. But that power has to come from somewhere; the plants can't generate it spontaneously."

"Comes from the suns, right? Some sorta photosynthesis, isn't it?"

"Only in part. And I had no idea—" He swallowed. "I let you go out there, right into the midst of it."

"You didn't know," she reminded him.

"But I should've."

"You can't know everything."

"Yes, I can."

Her hand found his, squeezing weakly. "No, even you aren't capable of that."

He squeezed back. He wouldn't argue the point with her, at least not now. "Well, if I had, I've have realized that these plants are a type of parasite. They remove energy from any source they come into contact with. They absorb it through pore-like structures on their leaves, forcibly removing it from the host."

"That's why I felt so tired an' weak?"

"Yes. I should've figured it out sooner—"

"'S all right. You figured it out when it counted."

"Barely."

Rose did not acknowledge the comment. "So these seaweed things basically drained me, right? But why didn't I feel that tired after it first happened?"

"You'd been injured. The adrenaline produced by your body counteracted the effects temporarily, allowing your cells to produce energy for a while. But once that had passed, you quickly used up your energy reserves. Same thing happened to me, too."

"To you? Really?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know. Were you in pain?"

"No, Rose, I was just tired."

"But you got me back here, back into the water. An' then what? Wait, you said we needed to get somethin' back. You were talkin' about the energy, right?"

"Yes. The plants discharge some of it on a regular basis; it corresponds with the positions of the suns. They'd absorbed an excess amount, though, when you had your swim. I'll have to do some calculations to prove this, but I think that the little bit of additional energy from you somehow fueled an exponentially larger amount to generate down in the roots, which I believe are the structure responsible for the primary power. They were processing more energy than usual, which caused some sort of significant upset in the system, leading to the tremor that made the arch crumble."

"All that from me?" Rose asked incredulously.

"Yep. You're a real powerhouse," he replied with a grin.

She thought for a moment. "But nothin' happened when they took your energy. I mean, there was no big power surge or earthquake."

"No. The system must've adjusted or recalibrated by then."

She nodded. "Okay. An' when we were back in the water, we were able to take back the energy they'd stolen from us when they discharged it, right?"

He nodded in approbation. "Exactly."

She shook her head in vague awe. "Wow. Talk about a complicated food chain."

"I should've known," he began again, still feeling the raw scrape of guilt.

"Everything's all right now," she replied quickly. "You sorted it in time, an' that's all that matters."

They were near the TARDIS now, and he increased his pace a little. He was anxious to leave the planet, to get away from the place where Rose had nearly died. He urged her forward, aware that she remained fatigued and was winded from their short journey.

Once inside the ship, he escorted her up the ramp, where she sank down in the jump seat. He set the coordinates and felt a satisfying jolt as the TARDIS returned to the vortex.

* * *

_To be concluded in the epilogue…_


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor plunked down beside Rose, reaching for her hand. She slid her fingers through his, and they exchanged mutual smiles of relief.

"Close one?" she asked simply.

He nodded regretfully.

She rubbed at her chest with a small frown. "Did my heart stop?"

He hadn't planned to tell her that, to permit her to know how very close he'd come to losing her. But now, beneath her earnestly questioning gaze, he couldn't withhold the truth.

"Yes," he replied. "But only for a minute or so."

"Oh." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Well then."

He watched the gingerly movement of her hand against her sternum. "Sore?"

She nodded. "A little. An' these marks sting." Her fingertips explored the small burns.

He stood, pulling her up with him. "Not for long."

She followed him to the infirmary willingly and removed her coat. She sat without complaining as he gently rubbed cooling regenerative gel over the tiny wounds peppering her chest, stomach, and back. He spared a few moments to take her foot in his hands and smooth a bit of gel over the mark on her ankle, too.

He did not ask her if it was all right to complete a scan of her heart and lungs; this time he was taking no chances. But she seemed to understand and did not question him.

"Everything looks fine," he told her when he'd finished the evaluation. He wondered if she heard the relief in his voice.

She smiled. "'M not surprised. You always manage to put things to rights." She slid to the floor and pulled on her shirt and jeans. "All right, your turn," she said, pointing at the couch.

He blinked in surprise. "What?"

"C'mon, Doctor, up." She patted the padded surface.

"Rose, I'm fine—"

"You've got burns too, don't you?"

"They're not bad; they'll heal."

She crossed her arms in quiet resolution, reminding him of her mother for a brief second. "They hurt."

He knew he couldn't deny the stinging, and her expression told him that she would brook no refusals. With a slightly put-upon sigh he settled himself on the couch. Rose's nimble fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt and soon had his chest and stomach exposed. She gave the entire area one long, appraising gaze, finally frowning prettily at the wounds. His had already begun to heal, but her untrained eye could not discern that.

Delicately Rose applied the gel to each small injury. Her fingers were warm and her touch soft. When she'd finished she moved around to the other side of the couch and tugged his shirt down over his shoulders and arms so that she could view his back.

"Is this from when you blew up the rock?" she asked, brushing her fingertips over the bruise above his hipbone.

"Yes," he replied.

"All right. What've you got for that?"

"The gel works on bruises, too."

Again her fingers moved over his skin, easing the slight sting and dull ache as she rubbed in the gel. When she'd finished, she stood back for a moment to survey her work then gestured toward his shirt to indicate that he could don it again.

He began buttoning the shirt. "Finished with me, are you?" he asked, not entirely failing to suppress his amused grin.

"Think so, unless there's anything else." Her eyes roamed over his body.

"No Rose, you sorted it all."

He hopped off the couch and pulled her into a hug, holding her securely for a long time. Eventually his chin came to rest on her crown, and he found one of his hands rubbing at the small of her back. He remembered that she had a bruise there and regretted that he hadn't yet healed it.

"I really am sorry, Rose," he said softly. "I put you through the wringer."

"Wasn't that bad," she began, her voice slightly muffled against the cotton of his shirt.

"It was," he retorted gently.

"Uh uh," she replied, lifting her head to look him in the eye. "We were together the whole time, so it really wasn't that bad."

He smiled and lifted his hands to cup her cheeks. "Humans," he said affectionately. "You never cease to amaze me."

"You mean in a good way, right? 'Cause I know that sometimes—a lot of times—we do stuff that shocks an' disappoints you an' leaves you thinkin' we're no better than apes."

"Not you, Rose," he said, pressing a kiss over the top of her head. "Never you."

She leaned against him, enjoying his gentle embrace as his arms looped loosely around her back again.

"So, what now?" she finally asked.

"What would you like?"

"Mmm," she considered for a few moments. "Tea."

He grinned. "That's all?"

"For now. I think I need a good cuppa before we face any more life-sucking seaweed."

"Oh, I have no intention of facing that again."

Rose smiled wistfully. He never meant to barrel straight into trouble, but more often than not, that was precisely what he did. And she charged right into the fray with him. But that was part of the package; it was what made her life with the Doctor exciting.

She slid her hand into his and prepared to face their next adventure.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
